


Breathless

by yoshi09



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Bash x Mary, F/M, Mabastian, Mary x Bash, mash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshi09/pseuds/yoshi09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bash and Mary go riding in secret. Mary makes it into a race— and Bash is never one to refuse a challenge. Set during winter with some snowfall after s1e14 and written before I watched s1e15 so sorry if there are inconsistencies. WARNING: Bash possibly, maybe going down on Mary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathless

A/N: I promise this isn't just gratuitous smut. I originally wrote it to be, but then Bash and Mary started writing themselves and like all my explicit fics, there's always some kind of underlying story or plot haha! Wrote this with lionheartedbash on tumblr in mind because she brought up a point in an article that Mary was drawn to Francis physically as opposed to Mary being drawn to Bash emotionally, but if you throw in the the tension of not being able to be together Mary and Bash's chemistry change (you could read her wonderful meta here)— and if you ask me, raw emotion plus the withdrawal of not being with Bash... well... let's find out what happens. =P

* * *

Their cloaks were banners of dark green and lightest brown, unfurling and undulating under the mercy of the wind. Bash was close behind her, she could feel it, could hear the thunder of his horse's hooves matching hers stride for stride. Her breath was coming in deeper, cold air forming a knot in her throat and yet she kept going, leaning forward, willing her horse to speed faster, ever faster, her body moving with the mare beneath her. And suddenly Bash came into her line of vision, just to her left. His horse was bigger, faster, and Bash moved with it effortlessly, seamlessly, the focus in his eyes a deadly force to contend with. Mary would not be won so easily. She clenched the reins in her hands, digging the spurs into the mare's sides and the horse seemed to find her second wind, jolting forward so abruptly Mary gasped in delight. Sometime ago the ribbons in her hair had come loose, and was tugged free with her speed— her hair spilled behind her now, with her cloak, and as if the unraveling of her locks came the unraveling of her reservations Mary felt herself grinning. She was breathless, exhausted, but so, so alive.

She chanced a look over her shoulder, to garner the distance between them and met Bash's eyes. He looked dangerous, reckless, and the gap between their horses was rapidly decreasing. She felt a thrill thrum through her body at his chase.

Faster.

Faster.

Faster.

And then she realized— this was the fastest her mare can go. She could feel it in the strain of its body, as if the mare could feel her rider's exhaustion, she too was winding down. Mary glanced behind her again, and Bash was almost upon her. There was a smile upon his lips— he knew exactly what she just realized.

Mary looked forward again, eyes sharpening, focus steadfast. An idea occurred to her, and she could take well advantage of it— she allowed her mare to slow its pace, just a fraction. Bash bolted ahead of her, not even sparing the queen a glimpse.

"Bash!" she called out, wondering if he heard her at all over the rush of the wind. But he must have because he looked behind him and he slowed his horse to allow her to catch up— wanting to know what she wanted, desired— and Mary couldn't resist the grin that revealed her plan. Bash grasped Mary's intentions at the exact moment she dug her spurs into the mare one final time and past him. She heard him laugh, a full, reverberating sound that reminded her of his chosen crest, tightened things low in her body. She wanted to look back at him, revel in his pleasure for the cleverness of her idea but she was so close— so close to their destination. The wind swept behind her, as if urging her forward, the promise of victory so near it was almost a taste. There. The forest opened into a clearing, a running stream ahead not yet frosted with winter. She pulled the mare into a stop, its body covered in a thin sheen of sweat and Mary dismounted hastily, eager to reach the stream before Bash did— she heard his horse rearing into a halt, and before she could comprehend what was happening, she felt an arm grabbing her about the waist and spinning her around, the movement so quick she was jerked mere centimeters from Bash's lips.

Their breaths intermingled in the frosty air, and for one infinite instant the world faded into nothingness and Mary was certain Bash was the only thing holding her there. The only thing that mattered. She wondered how she never noticed before. She was exhaling breathily, drunk with the rush, the wild force of his being a heady, powerful influence and she let out a short, breathless chuckle. He, so still, and her, vibrating with... with whatever this was.

His voice was a low, appreciate growl. "Freedom becomes you."

Bash crushed his lips to hers and Mary relished in it. He pulled away, much too soon, kissing her neck and Mary gasped throatily— half laughter, half moan— her gloved hands pushing into his hair as she felt him tangle his fingers through hers. He was kissing her mouth again, deeply, insistently, and Mary could hardly keep up with the excitement of their race, the tension of their challenge still pulsing through them. She kissed him back with equal fervor and distantly she was aware he had lifted her, the toes of her riding boots just grazing the snow before her back met with something solid— a tree trunk perhaps? She couldn't muse upon the matter much longer though because now he was doing something exquisite with his tongue along the edge of her neck and it required her fullest of attention...

His fingers, his wonderful, dextrous fingers, were unclasping the fastenings of her cloak, and the heavy fabric slid from her shoulders, puddling around her feet. Mary thought she should be cold, but the bite of winter was hardly competition for the fire Bash stoked within her. She couldn't get enough of him.

Mary's hands found leverage in his belt, and she grabbed hold of hips to jerk them abruptly to her. The action came so suddenly, he had to brace his hands on either side of her head to keep from slamming into her. He chuckled against her neck at the sudden wantonness of the queen before him, his own breath coming shaky as he pulled away to look down where they were only separated by mere layers of fabric. His eyes darted to hers— dark, confident, all too inviting as she looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Boundlessly beautiful.

Bash found his words at last. "As... tempting an offer this is... Mary... this is neither the time, nor place."

Mary looked at a loss for words, but Bash recovered them for her. "Though if my lady permits," he knelt before her suddenly, his hands now upon her hips, his chin so close to her sex as he looked up at her with unabashed desire, that there was no question in his meaning, "It would be a pleasure to serve you." Mary felt a shiver run through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

Her hands reached for him, cupping his cheeks, smoothing his hair back— and without breaking their gaze, Bash turned his face to the side, kissing her palm— lingering, promising, asking.

"Bash." his name was a hushed, reverent whisper on her lips. "I've... never..." she began, her mouth dry with some feeling between trepidation and excitement. She started anew, "Francis has... never..."

He smiled a little against her palm, already understanding her meaning, the assent she was trying to form without being brazen, "I am not Francis," he murmured into her hand, his breath hot, eyes intent— and that little smile reignited something in her. There was a choice she made today. When she walked to the stables through an old passageway she knew by heart from chambers unshared. Hers. Entirely. Bash understood what this meant, understood her often deeper than she allowed herself to believe. Before she put a foot into a stirrup, long before she gathered her mare's reins in her hand, before her gloved hands even slipped her own cloak about her shoulders— he must have known she would come. She always did. There was never any hesitation with Bash. And in some ways she wondered if that was why he was so unflinching, so resolute in his faith in her: she always came home to him. Despite everything, she  _still_  felt safest with him. Her heart, so tumultuous, elated, confused in the past weeks was abruptly, inexplicably, still. There was no question where she wanted to be this day.

"Yes." she finished at last.

"Yes." he repeated against her hand, his smile turning roguish in the span of moments.

Mary felt much too warm, the feeling of his fingers just smoothing the bottoms of her calves, lifting her dress, sliding the fabric up— up— "Do I close my eyes? Do I watch?"

Bash chuckled, the sound clenching parts too close to his lips— not close enough. "Do what you wish, Mary. I only ask that you trust me."

"I do trust you." she said, her brow furrowing as if the thought of him thinking anything else was absurd. "I always have."

His hands splayed upon her calves, slid slowly up to the back of her knees as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her hip. "Then trust in how deep my affections run for you."

Her dress, her damnable dress, as suitable for winter it may be, might as well have not been there for all the good it was doing keeping these shivers Bash was inciting from running up and down her spine. As if her body was under the same impression, her fingers moved from Bash's face to clench at her bodice, then, deciding quickly that they covered far too much of her view of Bash, she shifted her hands behind her, clutching at the tree trunk. Ah, so it was a tree after all.

His hands slid higher still, to her thighs, and she parted them instinctively, the extra fabric of her dress sliding over his forearms. The calluses of his fingers and palms were an exquisite sensation over the softness of her skin.

It was getting harder to breathe.

Bash looked at her then, his eyes flicking open to lock with hers, holding her there, with him, as he pulled away just slightly, pushing her dress flat across the tops of her thighs, his hands holding the fabric in place to either side of her hips so she can see him— see him dip his head and very, very gently, place an open-mouthed kiss upon the inside of her thigh.

She gasped, a sound she was sure would have embarrassed her under any other circumstance, and she could feel rather than see Bash smile against her skin at the sound.

"I thought," he began, his words an entirely new, hot sensation flowing over her sensitive skin as he moved ever so slowly across the gap between her thighs, to attend to her other one, "you were most beautiful..." he gave her another open-mouthed kiss and again she moaned, fingers clenching tightly at the bark behind her. "...when you were laughing..." he kissed her once more, open-mouthed, lingering, so close to her core— and she could no longer hold his darkened gaze, her eyes fluttered close of their own accord as she gasped. "...smiling..." Bash moved to her other thigh, "but I know now, I much prefer you above me," he bit her then, a gentle mark of the teeth along the inside of her thigh, and she whimpered, his name a breathy exaltation into the winter air. "making those delightful sounds."

How cold the world was around her, yet even without a cloak she felt perspiration gathering beneath her bodice, at the back of her neck, a flush of heat surely on her cheeks. An idle, wandering thought came to her then— how talented his tongue was in speech and kiss. How much more talented must he be in bed?

The thought wasn't unwelcome, but it was certainly unbidden and the idea only increased the glow in her cheeks as he kissed her slowly, lazily.

She could feel her body humming with anticipation. Each kiss sent jolts tingling through her, and she braced herself— fingers clenching so tightly to the bark she was sure her knuckles were white with the effort. Then just as she started relaxing into his attentions, his tongue found her center, licking a long precise line with the tip of his tongue over the edge of her folds— she buckled, moaning throatily and Bash had just enough awareness to move away before she accidentally hit him in her passion.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice different somehow, tight— distracted.

"Yes." Mary whispered reassuringly, suddenly conscious of the amount of times she had said "yes" and "Bash" in the last minute— so much so she wasn't sure she knew any other words.

As if her reassurance was the only encouragement he needed, he moved forward again, and Mary kept her eyes open this time, so she could pair sensation with vision and not one to disappoint Bash's tongue, and now mouth, met with her core— her hand went from the trunk behind her to his hair, gripping the hair at the crown of his head in wordless encouragement, the picture before her so erotic she was sure it would induce many a sleepless night in the future.

Her grip seemed to work for him as well because he hummed appreciatively and that sent a completely new tingle through her entirety. Her back arched and she exhaled breathily, "That. Do that."

Bash hummed again and the feeling shot straight through her and she cried out. Ever attentive, Bash alternated from stiff-tongued licks, and variations of hums and Mary felt a building at the back of her naval, as if her body was trying desperately to place all that pleasure  _somewhere._

Mary was at a crossroads in indecision— closing her eyes only focused the incredible sensation of his tongue against her and it was on the cusp of too much, yet watching him only succeeded in unraveling her already sparse control over the pleasure he was inspiring in her. Bash seemed to notice her distraction in the way she tensed because he pulled away.

"If you prefer faster, or slower— you need only ask." he said, looking up at her with eyes dark with arousal, short of breath, mouth wet. No, this—  _this_  was the picture that would induce many a sleepless night, she corrected herself. Mary wanted to lean down and kiss him.

"I ask that you do not stop." she sighed, her other hand joining her first in his hair, tugging gently, mussing it further, as a smile upturned the corner of her lips, "Please, Bash, just do not stop."

"You call me sweet with words," he murmured, "yet those are the most captivating I've heard."

"You talk  _far_  too much."

"Mm," he hummed in agreement, the sound vibrating to her core, and she had but a moment to register he actually let her have the last word before his mouth returned to her.

It was as if he never left and her body picked up precisely where they had been interrupted. The intense sensation winding beneath her belly returned in a rush, and she wanted to hold it at bay, draw this out. She didn't want this to end, she didn't want this ever to end. His tongue was flicking quicker now, Bash keenly following the cues of her breathing, the rolling of her hips against his mouth. Her sighs deepened, and just when Mary thought the pleasure couldn't possibly increase she felt his hands shift, one arm moving up to press her up against the tree, and with it her dress pulled up to her hips, and his other hand dropped away. She had a second to wonder why he shifted positions and then she felt a gentle press at her entrance and she knew exactly why. He pistoned a single finger into her, in tandem with his skilled tongue and she groaned, her chest heaving with the exertion of her breaths. He added a second finger and Mary was suddenly, intimately aware of just how wet she was under his ministrations. She rolled her hips against his hand, riding his fingers, the building, winding, ever increasing knot at her naval beginning to stretch, to pull— she quickly let go of Bash's hair, favoring the bark, the steady trunk above her head instead, her back bowing and stretching with that feeling— the feeling that she was trying to hold together, just a little longer, just— Bash hummed, his fingers curling inward and all at once she felt that knot strain and snap.

She shouted, the snowfall mercifully dampening Bash's name, and she shuddered, the pleasure flowing through her so acute in its intensity the pleasure on her face almost looked like pain. She felt him pull his mouth away, and she was sure he must be watching her, in all her messy, uninhibited glory as she rode out her bliss against his fingers til the very last, her head tossing from side to side, rolling the remnants of her pleasure with her hips against his hand, unbridled, as she sighed his name over and over.

Mary opened her eyes, unaware she had closed them. Her hair was tangled, sweat matting some strands to her neck, and she knew she must have been a sight ill-fitting for any title, and yet the way Bash looked at her with such fondness made her feel the most beautiful.

He pulled his fingers from her and she sighed a little at their loss, but he gave her the cheekiest of smiles as he placed his fingers, and thus her wetness, into his mouth, as if he was sampling something particularly delectable. Mary flushed and Bash chuckled at her sudden demure behavior. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then his hand on his pants, before dropping her dress altogether. Bash then gathered her cloak around her feet and swiftly lifted it up as he stood and to place it about her shoulders. Not a word was yet exchanged between them, but not since she opened her eyes did their gazes divert elsewhere, their eyes dancing with a shared, unspoken understanding— the corners of their mouths upturned slightly as if holding secrets only they knew. He clasped her cloak back in their proper place, adjusting it ever so marginally, having the experience of doing so many a time for his brother, and he stepped back, taking her in. Then, as if coming to some decision, he reached for her hair, hesitating briefly before continuing to pull her long locks from the prison of her cloak. The wind caught her locks, blowing them free about her shoulders and she smiled at him fully, glowing. She reached forward, gently brushing off some snow from his hair.

It was that moment then, that Mary was painfully, fiercely aware, that Bash had somehow, sometime ago, become of utmost importance to her. At this realization, something inside her steadied at the same time something else she can only describe as a feeling between worry and protectiveness awakened.

"Bash, never leave me."

He smiled, taking her hand from his hair and drawing it to his lips. "Never."

* * *

A/N: Fun fact: this fic was written almost entirely to the song "Do I Wanna Know" by the Arctic Monkeys. I only say this because it's one of the sexiest songs I've heard in my life and it's one of my favorites, and if you want to get a pretty immersive experience reading this fic (or writing any fic with some M involved) I suggest you type it in Youtube and read it with that song. Because... yes.


End file.
